Chapter 2The Better Person

I wanted to know.

What kind of girl was "better" than me?

I found her in his phone. Summer.

I had to see her for myself. I had to see the person who so easily destroyed eight years.

We survived long-distance. We survived the pandemic. We survived being so broke we split a single instant ramen for dinner.

But we couldn't survive a "better person."

I found her on the local college campus.

She was exactly what you'd expect. Young. Bright.

An elderly janitor was struggling with a heavy trash bin. The bag split, and dozens of empty soda cans clattered across the pavement.

Summer, in her cream-colored coat, ran over and started picking them up. She helped the woman get the new bag in place and walked with her for a block.

I followed, like a creep.

Suddenly, footsteps. A figure moved fast, blocking my view.

It was Mark.

He was standing between me and the girl, his hands half-raised. His lips were trembling. "Claire... it's not her fault."

Not her fault.

Then whose fault was it?

Mine?

The girl, Summer, finally noticed me. She looked at me, then quickly looked away, her face full of shame.